


i imagine the weight of your ribs if you lied between my hips

by beygood



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Zayn, M/M, Sensation Play, Tattoo artist Harry, some kind of AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:46:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6226303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beygood/pseuds/beygood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry's the first tattoo artist zayn's met who can make sense of his strange (and admittedly pretentious) creative vision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i imagine the weight of your ribs if you lied between my hips

**Author's Note:**

> a combination of two prompts I got on tumblr:  
> "zayn being fucked by his new tattoo artist, who can be anyone you'd like"  
> and  
> "can u write some ziam or zarry preferably with bottom zayn"
> 
> once again, i barely checked this for typos so let me know if there are some awful ones.
> 
> bizexualzayns.tumblr.com

Zayn is too extensively inked to count how many pieces he's gotten over the years. Some have bled into each other, making a piece so cohesive that he can't remember which bit came first.

Artistic synergy.

He utters the phrase one day while he's so high he feels like his soul has come untethered from his skin. It's unbelievably pretentious, but also so eloquent that Zayn can't help but be proud of himself for it. He's sober the next time he says it, trying to explain himself to the tattoo artist leaning over the counter in front of him.

To his own ears, it sounds like he's talking unintelligible shit, but the artist is looking at him with this quietly contemplative expression that makes Zayn think he understands somehow. It takes him a while to finish his spiel. Well, he doesn't finish so much as trail off with a vague wave of his hand and a dismissive shrug of his shoulders.

"Sorry," he ends up murmuring, fighting through a sharp pang of self-doubt. "That's probably useless to you."

The artist - Harry - he lets out this little hum and tilts his head slightly. "Noooo," Harry says, drawing out the vowel for no reason other than because he can, slow and sickly sweet. "No. I get you. Everything has its time and place. Has to fit the moment or it doesn't feel right on the skin, yeah?"

Zayn nods hesitantly, prompting a bright smile from Harry. The smile crosses his face just as slowly as he speaks, pink lips stretching and thinning out to reveal perfectly white teeth.

"Yeah." Harry repeats it as a statement rather a question this time. "Let's do it then."

Zayn describes the image in his head using more detail than is strictly necessary. He has some sketches of it too, but he doesn't want to show them to Harry and mess with his artistic process somehow. He keeps to words and they seem to work just fine.

When he's done, Zayn watches as Harry gravitates back to his drafting table. The parlor is a mostly open floor plan, with the only walls being the ones that separate smaller suites from the prying eyes of the waiting room (not that there are any prying eyes at the moment, Zayn’s had the good fortune to come on a day when Harry has no other appointments booked). It's welcoming and intimate simultaneously, makes Zayn feel like he has all the space he could want to stretch out while staying hidden away.

From where he is, he can watch Harry sketching ardently with a furrowed brow, intent and completely focused on the task in front of him. Watching him take pencil to paper is mesmerizing and envy inducing. If Zayn had any doubts about Harry’s abilities, all of them would be dispelled now. He _wishes_ he could work like that and is a little vexed that he can’t. He doesn’t hold it against the artist though, Harry does this for a living. It’s no shock that he outmatches Zayn when it comes to technical skill. Zayn makes art of a different kind and he’s more than satisfied with his ability to coax words that don’t rhyme into sounding like they were made for each other. Maybe, he thinks, Harry would be jealous too if he could hear him sing.

Harry’s done before Zayn can give much thought to that theory. Zayn makes his way back over to the counter, knowing that whatever Harry has come up with is what he wants before he even lays eyes on it. Still, he’s pleasantly surprised when he does finally see the sketch. His gaze flickers between the line work and its creator for a few moments.

“Do you like it?” Harry asks, sounding a little nervous.

“It’s beautiful. Really gorgeous, honestly.”

“Sure, but do you _like_ it?”

The question confuses Zayn because his feelings should be obvious. He just said it was beautiful, didn’t he?

“Yeah, of course. I already said that,” he responds, eyeing Harry up warily.

Harry laughs and it must be because of the expression on his face. Or, maybe it’s his answer. Zayn can’t tell yet. “No,” Harry says, grinning. “You didn’t. Beautiful and likable are not the same thing.”

It occurs to Zayn then that he might be in over his head with Harry where being fake deep is concerned.

Eventually, they do abandon Harry’s weird brand of philosophy and Zayn gets set up on a chair with his pants off and his legs elevated, set straight out in front of him so Harry can access his thigh.

When he’s got gloves on, Harry grabs a razor and starts shaving the hair off Zayn’s thigh, working quickly and efficiently until the entire area is bare. Then, he lays the stencil down and lets it set before peeling it off. Right there is an imperfect, slightly off color impression of what Zayn is going to have inked into his skin within the next few hours. When it dries, Harry changes his gloves, opens a fresh needle, and gets the gun set up.

Zayn is buzzing with anticipation, ready for the pain and soreness and satisfaction that always comes after this. Soon enough, the gun is buzzing too and Harry is pressing it into his skin for the first time. He doesn’t make a sound, just lets out a breath and relaxes all at once, letting the feeling wash over him. It’s a hard sensation to describe, getting ink needled into him. In his experience, it doesn’t hurt, exactly. At least, not at first. At first it’s like an itch he can’t scratch and then it’s an ache that radiates out to the rest of his leg, even down to his toes.

They don’t talk as Harry works; Zayn is too busy watching him and he’s too busy watching his hand on Zayn. At some point, a low thrum of arousal starts to resonate through Zayn, making his cock thicken up enough to be noticeable. He pays no mind to it though, and consequently, neither does Harry. The time seems to pass impossibly fast, but the sun is shining the last of its dying rays into the parlor when Harry’s done.

He shuts the needle off and wipes Zayn’s raw skin off for the last time, eliciting a hiss and squirm from him.

“Sensitive?” Harry asks, stroking softer with the cloth.

“Yeah,” he breathes, still shifting restlessly. Without the needle to distract it, Zayn’s cock wants attention now. He tries to tell it ‘no’, but the way Harry is touching him and the throbbing of his skin barrels over whatever objection he might have. “Sorry.” He says it quietly, embarrassed.

“Don’t be.” Harry is quick to reassure him. “Some people just get really into it. It’s natural. Though …” He trails off and lets his gaze drift to Zayn’s face. “You’re the first who’s gotten this _excited_.” He arches an eyebrow meaningfully.

Zayn flushes, turns his head away, and scrambles to come up with an excuse. But, Harry’s speaking before he’s even got one thought up. “It’s beautiful.”

His eyes cut to Harry. “Yeah?” He says slowly. “But do you _like_ it?”

He’s only parroting Harry’s words from earlier, but the question is still a bit of a risk. Looking at Harry, Zayn thinks that it’s one worth taking.

“I really, _really_ do.”

Zayn’s breath catches in his throat and he bites his lip hard.

“Is that okay?” Harry’s ditched his gloves now and is moving his thumb in circles over a spot on the inside of Zayn’s thigh, smooth from being shaved but well away from where the fresh ink is.

“That’s - more than okay.” Zayn swallows thickly, lets his legs part slightly. Harry’s fingers dance up to tug at the elastic waistband of his boxer-briefs. His curly hair and wide, eager eyes make him look more cherubic than he ought to at a time like this.

“Can I take these off?” Zayn makes a dissatisfied sound and pushes Harry’s hands away.

“You do yours and I’ll do mine.” After all, Harry has a much further way to go than he does. He strips off using a method that allows him to move as little as possible because his leg is getting really fucking sore. The pain isn’t a deterrent, but it makes him more careful than he would be otherwise.

While he works on himself, Harry ducks out of the suite for a few long minutes. When he returns, he makes sure to close the door securely behind them before taking a proper look at Zayn.

“Fuck,” he swears emphatically. “You’re so fucking – “ He cuts himself off with a with a weird, guttural sound and Zayn chuckles.

“Was hoping you’d do the fucking, actually. I’m not really up to it at the moment.” He spreads his legs a little wider, making eye contact with Harry as he licks a stripe over his palm and wraps a hand around himself. “Don’t make me wait for it?”

Harry stutters a bit and stumbles forward, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. He dumps the supplies he’s gathered unceremoniously onto a nearby tray and wrenches his clothes off. The display isn’t particularly sexy, but Zayn’s cock perks up more and more with every sliver of skin Harry reveals.

Unsurprisingly, he’s inked too, though not as extensively as Zayn is. The differences in their art are interesting, something Zayn would want to explore if he wasn’t so fixated on the idea of getting fucked sooner rather than later.

He jerks himself at an excruciatingly slow pace, not wanting to set himself off before he’s seen all of Harry. When the other man’s finally naked, Zayn’s eyes automatically drift down his lean torso to the apex of his thighs.

Harry’s cock is well proportioned, thick and long and absolutely mouthwatering. If all goes well with this, he’s definitely going to have to try and deepthroat it one day, just to see if he can. It’ll be hard, really test his gag reflex and the stretch of his jaw, but Zayn’s always been willing to work for dick if it’s good enough.

“Come on,” he urges. “I’m getting impatient.”

Harry hums. “Oh, we can’t have that.” He grabs the outrageously plush throw pillow he took from the waiting room as well as lube and a condom. Zayn briefly wonders why Harry has those kinds of things on hand, but is too grateful to question it.

“Budge up.” Harry taps the edge of the reclining seat and Zayn shimmies down until his back is fully flush with the leather and his ass is hanging over the edge a bit. Harry moves up between his legs, pressing his cock against Zayn’s and rubbing them together lazily. The sensation makes Zayn sigh and arch up for more, asking for everything Harry’s willing to give without saying a single word.

Carefully, Harry leans over to tuck the pillow under Zayn’s head, stealing a kiss as he does so. Harry’s lips are soft, but sure as they slide against his, telling Zayn that he knows what he’s doing.

“Wanna take care of you,” Harry murmurs when he finally pulls off, panting. “Will you let me?”

It should feel far too intimate for the relationship (or rather, the lack of it) that they have, but Zayn finds himself agreeing. “ _Please_.”

Harry licks his lips and nods before pushing Zayn’s legs wide open and up over his shoulders. With an impressive amount of finesse, he flips the lid of the lube open one handed and coats his unoccupied fingers generously.

“Has it been a while for you?” he asks, pushing his hand between them and rubbing Zayn’s hole with intent.

“Kinda. And you’re big, so –“

“I’ll take you slow.”

And, fuck, he does.

The first finger slides in easily enough, but Harry insists on keeping it at one for longer than Zayn wants. The second is harder, but nothing Zayn can’t handle, definitely nothing compared to how the raw skin on his thigh feels. The third is what gets his attention. That’s when Harry starts stretching him proper, pushing his fingers in deep, spearing him with them until he’s writhing and jerking his hips in time with how he’s being fucked.

“You feel so good and I’m not even inside yet.” Harry makes Zayn whine with the way he twists his fingers. “Gonna get you really loose for my cock, okay? Gonna make sure I can slide right in and give you want you want. Sound alright?”

Zayn whimpers and jerks his head, enough of a nod that Harry proceeds with every intention of making him fall apart before getting his dick inside. He makes sure that Zayn’s as close to the edge as possible without spilling over before finally pulling his fingers out. Zayn heaves out a relieved sigh, expecting a respite. But, before he’s started to let some of that built up tension go, Harry is sliding inside him with one long stroke.

The onslaught of sensation makes him cry out and one of his hands flies up to grip Harry’s bicep, hard.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck, _Harry_ ,” he keens. He can’t even begin to think about how Harry got the condom on without him noticing and, honestly, he doesn’t care. In the moment, all he’s concerned with is being split open over Harry’s massive dick.

“Yeah?” Harry says in that sleepy, slow way of his, punctuating it with a thrust so deep and hard it makes Zayn wail.

Zayn babbles at him after that, demanding to be fucked and wanting to feel it in every fiber of his being. Harry indulges him, pistoning his hips double time and making sure to keep hitting that sweet spot inside him once he finds it.

“You’re perfect. Just – fucking – brilliant. Hot and tight and taking me so well.” Harry grunts with every thrust, fighting for good leverage so that he feels like he’s earned all the noises Zayn makes. He looks down at Zayn’s hole, how it swallows him up over and over again and can’t help but think about what it would be like to slide into him bare. He even entertains the idea of sliding his thumb inside, right along the thick length of his cock to see how much Zayn can take. They don’t know each other well enough for that though, haven’t had the conversation necessary to make it a reality. The fantasy spurs Harry on, so much so that he shares it with Zayn.

Zayn listens open mouthed and glassy eyed as Harry describes exactly what he’d do to him if they had the time. He talks about making Zayn cum with just his fingers, then just his tongue. He’s really into the idea of eating Zayn out, actually, and he’s so graphic about it that it makes Zayn’s skin flush. He’s no virgin, but Harry is definitely the dirtiest talker he’s ever been with.

Zayn is jerking his cock in earnest now, desperate to get off as soon as possible. This isn’t meant to be part of a marathon fuck and they both know it.

“I wanna try something,” Harry pants.

Whatever it is, Zayn doesn’t care, he’ll take it if it makes him cum and he says as much.

Harry gives him a lopsided grin and shifts his hand down on Zayn’s leg, closer and closer to the new tattoo. It sends little jolts of pain up his spine, but not in a bad way at all if the pre cum leaking out onto his belly is any indication.

Harry stops just short of the ink and _presses down_ on the flushed, tender skin. He’s really gentle about it, but it still sends a shock running up through his leg. With Harry fucking him and his hand wrapped tight around his dick, the wires that separate pain and pleasure get crossed. He can’t describe it in any way other than _feeling_. It makes him wail and arch his back and cry for more because Harry can’t stop now, not when it’s getting him so fucking close.

“Thought you might like that.” Harry sounds smug, but Zayn can’t fault him because he’s got the right to. Harry digs the pads of his fingers in again, harder and longer this time. He’s fucking into Zayn so hard that all Zayn can hear is the slap of their flesh together and Harry trying to coax his climax out of him with the prettiest little words.

Harry says he’s being so good and that he’s stunning like this and that he’d give anything to have him bent over all day, taking his cock. He wants to make Zayn cum with a singlemindedness that’s overwhelming and Zayn can’t resist. Not when Harry’s making him take it like he is. Not when the pain is making cock throb and blurt out pre cum, slicking the way up for his hand.

All it takes is for Harry to lean forward on a particularly deep drive into Zayn’s body and turn his face to let his tongue drag along the edges of where Zayn’s thigh is most sensitive. Then, Zayn’s cock is throbbing hard one last time and the tension built up in his abdomen is unspooling too rapidly for him to control. Cum splatters all over his belly and chest, and his hand doesn’t stop moving until his flesh is too sensitive to stand the contact anymore.

Harry grunts as Zayn tightens around him and _bites_ as his rhythm goes irregular. He spills his load inside the condom to the sound of Zayn moaning his name like it’s the only word he knows. His eyes roll back behind his eyelids for a bit as sparks burst across his vision.  

Both their chests are heaving as a blissful haze settles over them. Harry kisses at Zayn’s thigh in between gulps of breath with a reverence that makes Zayn’s heart flutter. He wants to cling to Harry as he pulls out, but decides against it at the last second. The joints of his hips are aching from being bent back and below that feels numb. The time to recover is much needed for the both of them.

“You –“ Harry starts once he can talk without feeling like his lungs are going to give out. “Are the best customer I’ve ever had. No contest.”

“What? You do this for everyone who gets it up in your shop?” Zayn asks on the edge of a breathless laugh.

“No,” Harry says, a smile playing on his lips and his eyes glittering green and gold in the soft light.  “Not everyone.”


End file.
